


Instincts

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [50]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 14:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5130443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Brian out of town, Justin had planned on a fairly uneventful evening - a little drinking, some time spent with his sketchbook, maybe a quick flirt with the cute bartender at Fable. Unfortunately, an uneventful evening is not on the cards, and Justin finds himself in a dangerous situation with a peculiar stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instincts

_Sway, swell, sway, swell._

As the music flows through the bar, Justin follows it with his pen tracing across the page. It sweeps back and forth, curling and looping, growing denser in the corner, then lightening as it traces towards the center. Gradually, a labyrinthine structure that belongs to the song takes shape. It pleases Justin. He follows the sway, he follows the swell, and the labyrinth continues to grow.

Then the track changes. Justin drops his pen, grabs his drink, and takes a swig. He picks up his phone and checks it - no texts, no calls. Brian must still be busy entertaining his Pittsburgh clientele. Never mind that; Justin is enjoying his time at Fable, where the drinks are cheap and the music is good. The bartender who has been serving him since sundown is pretty cute, too, which is a nice bonus.

After Justin steals another sneaky, appraising look at the bartender, he returns to his sketchbook. In the centre of one of the loops, he starts sketching the pendant lights hanging over the bar. They’re spilling a rosy glow over the mahogany surface - it’s most of what little light exists in the bar.

“That’s nice,” says someone, who Justin instantly hopes is the bartender. “You’re pretty good.”

Honestly - ‘pretty good’ makes him bristle a bit. Justin glances up and finds himself disappointed. It’s not the cute bartender who’s offering up inadequate praise of his work, it’s some random guy. He looks like someone who might be handsome, if only he’d sober up and scrub the greasiness from his skin. But it isn’t just the obvious drunkenness or poor skincare that make this guy unappealing… there’s something about him that’s inherently unpleasant. It makes Justin’s skin crawl, not so much in revulsion, but in anxious warning.

“Thanks,” Justin says. He forces a smile and then returns to his sketchbook, where he starts on detailing the glow of the lights.

As he continues to sketch, he realises: not only is this guy the kind of guy to offer up deficient praise, he’s also the kind to not take a hint.

“Are you an artist?” The guy leans over him. Beer breath smacks Justin straight in the face. “That’s really sexy… I love a guy who can use his hands like that, all careful-like.”

The innuendo is slathered over every single beer-scented word. Justin cringes and lifts his left hand pointedly. “My husband likes it too.”

“Lucky guy.” The guy leans in even closer. “I’m David.”

Justin sighs and snaps his sketchbook shut. As he pockets his pen, he turns and snaps, “Hi, David, I’m married.”

_I’m also a liar, but you don’t need to know that, do you?_

“Hi ‘married’,” David sneers, “I’m not about to tell your husband jack shit.”

Justin grabs his drink and tosses the rest of it back. From a little ways down the bar, the cute bartender is watching him with a sympathetic gaze. Justin attempts to communicate with him telepathically-

_Get him the fuck away from me, won’t you?_

-but it doesn’t work. The bartender smiles at him and then turns away. David staggers even closer, so that their shoulders are touching. Justin almost shudders at the feel of clammy skin touching his. He pulls back and grabs his satchel. “Well, I have somewhere to be.”

“You sure do,” David says. There’s a hint of a slur as he adds, “My place. Let’s go to my place.”

Justin laughs and slings his satchel over his shoulder. “I don’t think so.”

“C’mon…” David pouts dramatically, much in the way Gus and J.R. might when they’re not getting what they want. It’s decided - nothing has ever been so totally unattractive, _ever._ “We’ll have a good time.”

“We won’t. I told you, I have somewhere to be.”

Justin makes eye contact with the bartender again and tries a more direct approach. Instead of attempting telepathic communication, he nods towards the bouncer at the door and mouths, _A little help?_

Unfortunately, it’s just as a group of guys swarm upon the bartender, whose attention is stolen away. Then, nanoseconds later, David descends to new depths of unattractiveness. He grabs Justin’s arm, pulls him close, and slurs in his ear, “You’re pretty hot. Wanna know what I’d do to you?”

“Fuck this,” Justin snaps. He grabs David’s hand and pries it off his arm. “I’m more than ‘pretty hot’, my work is more than ‘pretty good’, and you’re fucking disgusting. Get away from me.”

He says it loud enough that everyone in the immediate vicinity notices. As they turn to stare, David backs away. He loses his footing and staggers a bit, only managing to right himself by grabbing one of the barstools. As he pulls himself up, a flush rises from his collarbone to his cheeks.

Justin shakes his head at the creep and jams his sketchbook into the back pocket of his satchel. Then he turns and strides towards the door. As he exits Fable, he tosses a despairing look at the bouncer, who’s slouched in his seat, chewing gum idly.

“Goddamnit,” Justin mutters. The pleasures of the evening have been totally shot to shit. As he storms down the street towards the subway, he can still feel David’s clammy skin touching his, much like he can still smell his stale beer breath. It sends a shudder through him.

_What a creep…_

*

The 6 train is late. There’s an announcement that keeps playing about a malfunction of some sort, but Justin doesn’t pay it much mind. He leans against the wall and entertains himself by texting his beloveds. First Daph:

_Wait until I tell you about the supercreep that came onto me at Fable.  
We’re never going there again, just so you know. We’ll have to find a new haunt :-(_

Then Brian:

_Call me later tonight? Any time is fine. Love you xx_

As he hits send, another shudder runs through him. But why?

Then, alarm bells start going off. Justin can feel eyes on him. He swallows, tells himself to remain calm, and looks up.

Approaching him at an alarmingly fast pace is David.

Justin straightens up and steps away from the wall. The last thing he wants is to be cornered against the damned thing. As he repositions himself more safely, David comes to stand within an inch of him. “Why’d you leave?”

“I told you,” Justin says plainly, “I have somewhere to be.”

“Liar,” David laughs. “Your husband is out of town.”

“Excuse me?”

“I saw you text him.”

“You _what?”_

As David grins and chuckles, Justin tries desperately to think. Is it possible that David was reading over his shoulder at some point? Maybe earlier in the night, when the bar was insanely busy, and there was a ten minute wait on service? He’d been jammed into a crowd of people waiting for drinks and had texted Brian, asking him how Pittsburgh was treating him.

_Shit._

As Justin stares at the smug grin on David’s face, the shudder of fear turns to one of rage. He glares at him and demands, “What the fuck do you want?”

“You,” David laughs. He reaches out and tries to grab at Justin’s hair, only his gesture is misguided and he snatches at thin air. “C’mon, pretty… let me show you a good time.”

Justin recoils. “No fucking way. Seriously, get away from me.”

The smile drops from David’s face. He peers at Justin curiously. “But…”

“But nothing!” Justin glowers at David and snarls, “I don’t want any-goddamned-thing to do with you. Now _fuck off.”_

He knows right away that he’s made a mistake.

All evidence of humanity fades from David’s features. His eyes turn cold and his lips twist into a hideous sneer. He advances on Justin, slowly but surely, backing him up the platform. In a white-hot, twisting surge, Justin’s instincts start to scream.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, you don’t get to say ‘no’ to _me-”_

As David continues to berate him, Justin’s heart does a pendulum swing: from his chest to his stomach to his throat. He can feel himself being backed towards the track; he thinks he sees lights creeping up the tunnel; he knows in his core that this guy is bad. The worst kind of ‘bad’…

… the kind of bad that Justin thought he’d left behind in Pittsburgh, long ago.

“Tom? Is that you?”

David stops. Justin stops. They turn to look at the guy who’s approaching. He grins at Justin and exclaims, “Tom! It _is_ you!”

“Yeah,” Justin says, because something inside of him is saying: _yes, go with it, go with it **now.**_

Instead of screaming  _ **no,**_ his instincts are suddenly singing  _ **yes, please, yes...**_ _  
_

The guy sweeps him up into a hug and whispers in his ear, “I’m Tristan. I’ll help you get rid of him.”

Then he pulls back and cries, “How long has it been? Where have you been hiding?”

“Uh, you know,” Justin shrugs, “Around.”

“Around…” Tristan laughs. It’s a bright laugh, full of light and kindness - nothing like David’s, which made Justin’s insides shrivel up. “Well, you know where you’re gonna be tonight? With me and Paul. He’s cooking, I’m mixing drinks, you’re our guest of honour. No arguments, you understand?”

With a smile, Justin says, “You’ll hear none from me.”

“Good.” Tristan beams at him, squeezes his shoulder, then turns to David. Suddenly, he pulls himself up so he’s standing at full height - he’s easily six foot two, if not more, which means he looms over David. Though his features are soft and kind, he quickly schools them into a firmer expression - one that Justin wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of. As he eyes David, he says coolly, “Excuse us, but we’re old friends and we’ve got to catch up.”

David’s mouth twists again, but as he looks Tristan up and down, he visibly deflates. He glances at Justin, glares at him a little, then backs away in an awkward shuffle.

Meanwhile, the train enters the station.

“Let’s get moving,” Tristan says, loudly enough for David to hear, “Paul’s waiting. He’s made that soup you love. See - it was meant to be, us bumping into each other!”

Then he grabs Justin’s arm and leads him down a few carriages, where they board together. As they find a couple of seats, Tristan murmurs, “Don’t look for him. I will.”

“Okay.” Justin tightens his grasp on his satchel and pulls out his phone. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the text from Daph:

_Why the sad face?? We’ll go haunt-hunting, it’ll be awesome :-)  
Call me if you need to talk  <3_

It’s instantly heartening. So is Tristan’s presence. As the train pulls out of the station, he pats Justin’s arm and promises, “He’s gone. He stayed in the station.”

“You’re sure?” Justin glances up the length of the carriage. “He didn’t get on at all?”

Tristan shakes his head. “He didn’t. He did follow us to the car, though… he was watching as the train pulled away.”

“Fuck!” Justin covers his face with his hands and takes a breath. Then he drops them and admits, “He was such a creep.”

“I know the type.” Tristan grimaces. “My ex was a psychotic asshole. When I saw you standing there with him, I knew something was wrong… he had my ex written all over him, and you _…_? Well, honey, you reminded me of me.”

“Thanks for helping.” Justin sags a little in the seat and stares at Tristan. “A lot of people wouldn’t have bothered.”

Tristan shrugs and straightens his tie. “Our kind ought to look out for each other, don’t you think?”

“Of course.” Justin tries to force a smile. He _wants_ to smile, for he’s truly grateful to Tristan, but his face won’t cooperate. “So… your partner cooks?”

“He’s amazing.” Tristan grins and grabs his phone from his briefcase. He pulls up the gallery and starts flicking through photos of the two of them. “We’ve been together six years. He does love to cook… Italian is his passion, but anything goes.”

“I like to cook,” Justin muses weakly. It’s a struggle to think of anything to say, and even more of a battle to get the words out. He’s still too rattled.

It must be noticeable. Tristan smiles sympathetically at him and nods towards his phone. In an obvious attempt at distracting Justin, he flicks through the photos, explaining, “This is our puppy - his name is Humphrey, as in Bogart of course - and this is Paul’s herb garden, which I’m under strict instructions never to touch… I murdered the basil plant last summer.”

“So I got rid of a creep and landed myself in the presence of a murderer,” Justin remarks.

Tristan laughs out loud and nudges him. “It’s only plants that I have issues with. And anyway - I still maintain it was manslaughter.”

“Well, that makes a world of difference.”

They grin at each other. Tristan puts his phone away and touches Justin’s left hand. “Tell me about your beau.”

“His name is Brian.” Justin smiles to himself. “He’s the greatest guy in the world.”

“Pics? Stories?”

“Of course…”

As the 6 continues travelling downtown, Justin pulls out his sketchbook and shows off a few of his recent sketches of Brian. He explains that they’re not technically married, but as good as. He tells Tristan about their trip to Italy and the weeks they spent journeying, partying, indulging each other.

By the time the train reaches Spring Street, Justin has almost forgotten about David. He and Tristan depart the train together, even though Tristan normally stops at City Hall. He promises Justin that it’s no big deal and that he’ll walk the rest of the way. As they ascend to the street, they keep an eye out - just in case.

“He’s gone,” Tristan says assuredly. “Seriously, I saw him on the platform when the train pulled out of 77th. He’s long gone.”

“Yeah.” Justin smiles - it’s feeling a little forced again - and says, for perhaps the millionth time, “Thanks. That was really decent of you.”

“Never mind. Hey, do you want to come to dinner? Paul makes enough to feed the entire _block…_ there’s easily enough to spare.”

“No, it’s okay.” Justin glances down the street. “I should get home.”

“Okay.” Tristan smiles and reaches for something in his briefcase. Out comes a business card, which he places securely in Justin’s hand. “Stay in touch. I’d like to meet this Brian of yours. I’m sure Paul would too.”

“I will,” Justin promises, which brings a grin to Tristan’s face. “Have a good night.”

“You too, Justin. Stay safe, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And then they part ways. As Justin heads towards home, he tries to focus on the good feeling brought about by Tristan’s companionship. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived. By the time he reaches the building, his anxiety has skyrocketed. He stabs the code into the keypad, shoves the door open, slips through it, then slams it shut. As soon as he hears it arm itself, Justin flees towards the elevator, takes it up to their floor, and rushes towards the front door.

Sometimes, Brian surprises him by arriving home early. As Justin unlocks the door, he prays that it’s one of those nights.

It’s not.

The apartment is empty. Suddenly, it seems so much bigger than usual. There’s an echo as he shuts the door. Justin cringes and hurries to fix the locks. He checks them twice and then makes a beeline for the bedroom.

He collapses onto the bed and stares at the ceiling. It all comes rushing back - the touch of clammy skin against his; the stale beer breath; the light going out of David’s eyes, only to be replaced by cold fury.

The imagined sensation of his own body hitting the tracks, and light flooding over him, and then _…_

Justin heaves in a breath and grabs his phone. He calls Brian and prays that Brian will pick up. It takes six rings - six rings that feel like an eternity.

“Hey, Sunshine. What’s up?”

“Brian? Hey.” Justin pulls himself up and hugs his legs to his chest. “Nothing much. I wanted to hear your voice, that’s all.”

Of course, Brian sees straight through that. Urgently, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Justin.”

“What?”

“Tell me what happened.”

“Nothi-”

“It’s not nothing - you sound awful. What happened?”

Justin sighs. He hugs his legs closer and admits, “This guy followed me from the bar to the subway. He was really…”

_Strange? Creepy? Terrifying? Dangerous? All of the above and then some?_

Panic laces Brian’s tone as he demands, “Are you alright?”

“I’m alright. I’m home safe.” Justin props his chin on his knees. “Really, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You’ll hear it in person soon enough,” Brian snaps (though it’s clearly out of frustration with the situation), “I’m coming home.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

There’s no arguing with that - Brian’s _don’t mess with me_ tone is out, full-force. Justin smiles at the sound of it. “Travel safe, then.”

“I will.” Brian’s voice softens as he adds, “I love you.”

As always, the sound of those words spoken by Brian makes Justin’s heart sing. He grins as he replies, “I love you, too.”

“See you soon.”

“Yeah.”

When the line goes dead, Justin kicks his shoes off. He stares around the bedroom - at the open curtains, at the door left ajar - and shudders. He jumps up and goes to pull all the curtains shut. He closes the bedroom door and latches it. He even goes into the walk-in to change. It doesn’t feel right, sleeping naked tonight, so he grabs his pyjamas and puts those on.

Even after Tristan’s act of kindness, even after hearing Brian speak those three lovely little words, even though he’s safe in his own home… Justin feels unsettled. He goes to bed and bundles up on Brian’s side.

It’s ages - hours, perhaps - before he finally lulls off to sleep.

*

He wakes too soon - his eyes are cloudy, his head is heavy, and his body is groaning at him: _why, oh **why** , are we awake this early?_

Because Brian’s home, that’s why. He’s knocking at the bedroom door and calling, “Sunshine?”

Justin forces his sleep-deprived body out of bed and drags himself over to unlatch the door. Nanoseconds later, it swings open, and then he’s swept up in Brian’s arms.

“Hey,” he mumbles into Brian’s shoulder. “Thanks for coming home. You didn’t have to.”

Brian embraces him with unprecedented intensity. “Of course I did. What the hell happened?”

“There was this creep at Fable,” Justin begins, and then it all comes pouring out.

By the time he’s finished talking it all out, they’ve moved up to the roof, where they can greet the morning together. As always, Brian knows his needs through and through. He insisted they come up here, and rightly so - up here, Justin can breathe. He can watch the surrounding streets, gaze at the buildings, the tree-tops… up here, he feels in control. 

“Who is this Tristan guy and where can I find him?” Brian rakes a hand through his hair. “I want to buy him a drink. Hell, I’ll buy him a vineyard, for all he did for you…”

“He was great,” Justin agrees. “I have his card; he wants to meet you.”

“You told him about me?”

“Of course I did.” Justin grins at Brian. “I told him you’re the greatest guy in the world.”

Brian smiles - it’s such a lovely sight, all soft eyes and sweetly curved lips. He cups Justin’s face in his hands and smooths his thumbs over the hollows under Justin’s eyes. “That’s the lack of sleep talking, Sunshine.”

“It is not,” Justin laughs. He pokes Brian’s stomach playfully and chuckles as Brian squirms. “You are the greatest guy in the world. I knew it that first night; I know it now.”

With obvious doubt, Brian echoes, “You knew it that first night?”

“I thought it,” Justin recalls. Brian was someone like Tristan - someone who felt safe. More than that, he was someone who felt like somebody, all full of potential, brimming with greatness to be discovered. Justin smiles, tilts his head, and kisses the palm of Brian’s left hand. “Now I know it.”

“Hmmm.” Brian smiles and pulls Justin close for a gentle kiss. “Are you okay?”

Justin eases into Brian’s arm and rests there, thinking. There’s still a pinch of fear in his gut, but that’s nothing compared to the storm of anxiety that was raging inside him last night. He won’t say the one thing that they both surely know he’s thinking: that this isn’t the first time that some psycho followed him. He didn’t know then, just like he didn’t know last night… not until it was almost too late. The pinch of fear grows a little, like it always does when he thinks of that night and what was done to him. It continues to grow as he places the sense of déjà vu that he felt around Daniel - it’s not just Hobbs who Justin was reminded of, it was the Sapp as well. Two of his nightmares rolled into one.

He could easily succumb to the fear. It has swallowed him whole before. It would be so simple to let it devour him now. But Justin refuses to let it. He focuses on the crisp breeze gracing the rooftop, the soft glow of sunrise, the spread of the city around him. He burrows into Brian’s embrace and feels out his partner’s breath, his heartbeat, and then, his lips, which Justin steals a kiss from. Then another, then another, then another, until the fear is gone, until he comes alive with that wonderful something that exists solely between the two of them.

**The End**


End file.
